At The End
by Sky-Byte-Haiku
Summary: "Life was confusing, a puzzle he had always been trying to figure out. He had never been certain of the path he had chosen, had constantly reassessed his decisions and actions. Now, perhaps, he could finally rest." Thundercracker lays on the battle field. He knows he is dying. This is a very short fic about his internal monologue just before the end.


This is another old one, but I keep it up because in many ways I still like it. I think I got something right with it, even if the writing could use a little work.

**Warnings: **character death, gore, violence, general depression and possibly some angst.

**At The End**

It was quiet. The sounds of gunfire and explosions had faded. Every now and then faint cries of pain would echo over the still smoldering battlefield: a reminder that they had all been forgotten.

Thundercracker lay on his back, gazing skyward but not really seeing anything. He knew no-one was coming back for him: Decepticons didn't bother looking for survivors. He was hardly worth rescuing at this point in any case.

There was no pain, not any more: he had deactivated his sensor array. The damage, however, was still as severe, whether he could feel it or not. He was dying. Maybe he could have survived with medical attention, but no medics were coming back for him. It was over.

"Primus, don't let me die here!" The faint, desperate shout of another soldier was met by silence. Thundercracker slowly turned his head to toward the shout, catching sight of the speaker. The soldier lay not far from Thundercracker. His lower body had been completely torn away, leaving ripped and sparking wires dangling from the base of his garish, red torso. On his chest the insignia of the Autobots stared mournfully up at the sky. So it was not only Decepticons who could not be bothered to help their fallen soldiers.

The soldier writhed, letting out small cries of pain as he tried to turn himself over, probably in an attempt to drag himself to safety. Energon began to spurt from his open waist and his cries became louder, more panicked. Thundercracker couldn't ignore the thought that it was wrong that the warrior die like this, drenched in his own fuel, so crazed with pain that he could barely think. He had been loyal, faithful. He had given his life for his cause, for his leaders, and this was his reward. Autobot or not, in this moment he was not so different from Thundercracker. They had both been abandoned here, no longer relevant now that their purpose had been served.

It took only a moment for Thundercracker to aim his gun and fire. As the bullet ripped through the soldier's central processor his screams finally ended, his body relaxing.

"Rest with Primus, brother," Thundercracker whispered, his gaze returning to the sky.

Thundercracker had never given much thought to the afterlife. He had always known that when the time came he would return to the Well. That had always been enough, he hadn't needed to know more. Now though, he wondered what it would be like. Would he be judged for his actions in life? Would Primus himself pass that judgment? What would the verdict be? He had always tried to live as he thought he should, but war was complicated and confusing: it twisted perceptions, made everything different. Things that normally would never have been acceptable suddenly seemed necessary, and following orders became a justifiable excuse. He was no exception: he had done things in his life that were beyond criminal. Others had suffered because of him, yet everyone in the war had caused someone to suffer. Did that make it right? Necessary? Justified? He wasn't certain, would probably never be, even if he had been given a full life to reflect on it.

Above him, a cloud of smoke billowed across the sky, streaming up from some unseen devastation. In some ways, it was a relief to finally be here. Life was confusing, a puzzle he had always been trying to figure out. He had never been certain of the path he had chosen, had constantly reassessed his decisions and actions. Now, perhaps, he could finally rest, finally let go of the confusion and fear.

Small specks of static began to dance across his vision, slowly increasing in quantity. He knew what it meant: his systems were beginning to fail. All he felt was a sort of heavy exhaustion and a lingering sense that there was still more he wanted to do in the world. His life had not been all war, there had been good times too, and it was sad to leave them behind. He'd had friends, a lover, a prestigious position. Maybe he should have done more with it, used the influence he had to change the world for the better. He had meant to, in the beginning, but somewhere along the way taking orders had become more important. Maybe in his own way he had helped, but lying there, his vision slowly turning to static, he didn't feel as though his life had ever really meant that much.

His mind lingering on that thought, the world slowly faded into blackness.


End file.
